


On Hold

by enigmaticallygodless



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, also unresolved angst, established early relationship, jordan baker deserves a nobel peace prize, sad & horny too, yeah jay's still a bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 14:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticallygodless/pseuds/enigmaticallygodless
Summary: “I visited Gatsby with no preface about our conversation, but now heshouldbe coming to you soon, with an apology.”





	On Hold

_“You’re breaking my heart, Jay!”_

The horror rips through him violently, and in a sharp rise, he’s awake. He grasps and turns, this can’t be his death yet, even if he’s tried, he can’t die yet. Gatsby can’t tell which voice had ridiculed him, entirely devastated with a wretched sadness; and all he could do was let out a sob. He felt stricken with a fever, his body full of cold tremors, fighting against the flame of terror that consumed him.

Gatsby nearly flinches away from the sudden weight of a hand, there’s a low panic of a voice that nearly shakes as bad he is. But it settles, into a gentle beckon. He resists to unfold at first, but in the end he opened to the solid body against him. It allowed for a place to cry, a place to regain a piece of mind.

Nick curls his fingers gently, into his gold-spun hair, and brushes his forehead against his, melancholic. He wishes for a sense of knowing — A sense of healing in these unexplainable nights. They lay there, in between the late of night and early morning, easing into one breath.

No words come from either of them, even when light, the color of summer peaches, begins to fill Nick’s cottage. Dried from tears and dreamly hauntings, Gatsby rises his head from Nick’s chest, and forlornly smiles.

“You know where to find me,” he finally says, and kisses Nick’s cheek, before rising for an unusually lonely day.  


  


Nick doesn’t find him at all, for at least four, long, consecutive days. There was no luck after searching Gatsby’s grand manor, his quiet butlers paid no mind to Nick, or had any answers to Gatsby’s whereabouts. Nick even searched his own cottage for anything in form of a lovely written note, even if it were to say goodbye.

It was all abrupt, or perhaps something called an avalanche. Things have been collecting in secrecy, and Nick’s heart lurched, in fearing that he missed the entire snowfall. He sits in his bedroom, fighting the force to stand up and walk back to Gatsby’s again. Nick was no lost puppy, but he does woefully listen to the start of rain and its song for the evening.

In the midst of mindless reading besides candlelight, Nick hears a creak on his steps, quiet but bold, before two sturdy knocks interrupt him. He ambles down, and pulls the door open to Jordan Baker and her umbrella, completely and impossibly dry during the storm.

“I visited Gatsby with no preface about our conversation, but now he _should_ be coming to you soon, with an apology.” She said lamely already turning to leave, “I’m going to Daisy’s, bye now Nick,” Jordan waves her elegant fingers at him, with nothing more to say as she approaches back to her chauffeur.

Nick stands there at his threshold, mouth open to speak long after the car had driven away. So, he waits there in the cold with his arms crossed, letting in all in all the chilling zephyr as he waits, for the familiar form to show. 

In a selfish frustration, Nick nearly gives up after a few generous ticks, but over in a quick glance by the underbrush, he sees the unshielded Gatsby promenading his way. His hands are in his pockets when he meets Nick at his porch, in complete stupor to the rain. His hair falls undone, and Nick stubbornly keeps his hands from him.

It’s obvious and sharp, and it hurts them both.

“Tea?” Nick asks, despite the darkening hour, and shuts the door once Gatsby was inside; unsure where to put himself.

“That’d be fine- No,” he changes his mind, “no,” he says again quietly. Unable to meet Nick’s eye.

“Well then?” Nick asks in the softest of voice, instead of laconic impatience. He’s still leaning against the threshold, arms crossed but palms relaxed.

“I’m sorry I came to apologize, I would lie I was away with business and calls but I’ve been in my library and I told Owl Eyes to keep it discreet and his plan was just to shut a few doors-”

“Jay,” Nick sighs, accustomed to his talks that seem as composed lyrics, but often times they’re rushed. As if admittance to guilt can pass by as a blur.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for waiting for me- I’m sorry… My place seems rather discreet with its doors closed, doesn’t it, Nick?” Gatsby finally looks to him, gold spun but fraying. And it makes Nick a deeper sense of sadness.

“I’m sorry,” Gatsby says again.

Nick moves from the wall, an understanding smile on his lips as he takes two steps to Gatsby, “you already apologized. All I need is one,” he tells him gently, “thank you.”

He kisses Gatsby sweetly, “thank you.” He says again.

Gatsby looks to him, “all I need is one,” he softly mocks.  
“We always give each other more than we need — Remember the flowers?” Nick grins, watching the sharp redness of Gatsby’s cheeks grow. 

He kisses him again, before he could object about the excessiveness.

“Did you come just for an apology, Jay?” Nick asks after withdrawing from the kiss.  
His hand found a place at the small of Gatsby's back. He watches as his throat clicks when he swallows. He waits for his answer.

“Yes,” Gatsby breathes out, too dumbstruck for any wits.

“Yes?” Nick laughs, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Gatsby sharply retracks on his words and only blushes more, “I hope you know what I mean. It would pain me if you didn’t.”

“Hm,” Nick muses quietly, as he kisses his jaw and smiles at the sudden fingers in his hair, “would it pain you just as much — those four days? Without this?”

“You would be surprised,” Gatsby can feel the jealousy from Nick in what he entails.

“But it wasn’t enough?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Then I digress. I’ll give you more than enough, Jay.”

Nick’s hands go to delicate work on Gatsby. Starting with his tie, as he kisses him. Then to the buttons of his shirt, one by one till a light hand stops him. Nick withdraws from their kiss, breathless as he stays near to keep in their shared, heating warmth.

Gatsby kisses him shortly, “are you taking me elsewhere, or fucking me on your floor?”

Nick looks him in the eye, after staring at his lips for a few seconds too long, “I thought you just came here for your apology. Not to choose where it happens.”

He listens to how Gatsby’s breath catches, along with how his heart snags onto the look Nick grants him. Gatsby kisses him again, and again, pushing into the hands that hold him, and pulling with his own. 

There’s a plead in Gatsby’s throat, caught in hesitation so he just breathes against Nick’s skin as he grounds himself at the hand on his front, tracing further and further down his skin, before it dips below his trousers, and wraps around him in sweet steeped love. 

He could nearly cry into his shoulder.

“Nick,” he softly cries out into how his hand works, and is left in complete disappointment when the pressure entirely fades away, “you’re being unfair.”

Fingers revel and wind into Gatsby’s hair, tugging keenly to draw out the softest moan of their night. Nick smiles, unmirthful in the definition of pure admiration.

 

The rain still falls upon the roof when they reach Nick’s bedroom. Gatsby’s splayed upon the sheets, watching Nick in the warm light undress down to the same bones; vulnerable. In the deep waters of each other.

Nick leans over him, pecking a kiss on his flushed red shoulder as he grabs the lube and settles between Gatsby’s spread knees, pushing one further to his chest. He takes the slick, immediately curling his fingers around his cock that was flush against his stomach. He catches the head with his thumb, and watches as his back already bows from the bed. 

Gatsby moans into his hand, trying to avoid biting down into his skin. He tries not to buck his hips, and chase a feeling Nick was in full control of stopping. This was a moment in time, where all he became was Nick’s, in his hands to be unraveled with every stroke on his cock, making the head practically weep.

“You’re so wet,” Nick murmurs, kissing the inside of his knee, “and gorgeous, Jay. Here for me,” the more he speaks, the faster his hand jerks him off. The slick sounds rising the tension, and Gatsby’s moans, and his fists in the sheets, high strung to the peaks of pleasure.

“Nick,” he moans and pants so sweetly, it only slows the hand to a complete stop. 

“I don’t think I need to ask for you to tell me when you’re going to come,” Nick kisses him, swiping his wet thumb over the head again to feel him jolt and whine into their kiss.

The kissing takes Gatsby into a higher gossamer, and his moan is taken to a sharp exhale when he feels Nick’s fingers dip lower, brushing against his hole. He presses two in, watching Gatsby’s face as his eyes close in the bliss of being filled.

“I was going to ask if you would fuck yourself for me,” Nick tells him, sitting back on his heels as he takes his cock into his other hand, “but I want to take care of you, Jay. You’re so beautiful — You deserve it all.”

Gatsby keens when Nick curls his fingers, pressing them into his prostate, and watches as the head of his cock only leaks more. There’s a curling at the base of Gatsby’s spine, and his breath hitches when Nick gives into giving his cock an upstroke.

“Please,” he sharply exhales, and every movement stills, and his eyes prick with tears. His hand is on Nick’s forearm, gently squeezing before falling back to the bedsheet in defeat.

Nick leans down to kiss him, withdrawing his fingers, and only to slick them again for three, “you take things so well. I have you like this, barely held together — whimpering, just to come, and you’re so beautiful doing it all. Everything, Jay.”

He gets to have him with his fray threads pulled, and torn to a bared rawness.

Three of his digits begin pressing in, and Gatsby takes them with the stretch, causing the heat in his stomach to grow viciously. He’s so hard it’s a painful throb, but he never reaches for himself, as hellaciously tempting as it is.

“There are so many people, who want to take you home,” Nick nearly draws his fingers all the way out, before slowly pushing them back, subtly curling them in, “I see it on their faces, but I’m the one who takes you to bed, and fucks you senseless-”

“I’m going to- I’m going to come,” his exhale is all rushed, and his cock dribbles more precome, untouched and making a mess on his stomach.

“Just from the talking?” Nick smugly asks, his fingers simply scissoring him, “do you like it, when people think about fucking you? But it’s only me that makes you absolutely wordless?”

He’s nodding, with his breath caught in his throat.

“Good,” Nick carefully pulls his fingers away, and immediately wraps them around his cock, jerking him off with intent, “ _good_. I want you to cry.”

There’s a sharp moan before he comes, and his thighs try to close on his hand, but Nick forces them open, locking him down. He continues, long after his hand been striped with the heat of his come. Starting to twist on the upstrokes, Nick listens to the room’s sonorous pleasure as he bucks. Tears well up to streams, and his moans are sooner begs, then cries as Nick brings him to a second crash and haze, listening to Gatsby’s defeated exhales as he comes in more pulses, and throbs. 

Nick wipes his hands down on the bed sheet, laying down beside Gatsby, who immediately hides into his neck, his cheeks wet with tears, and his breath hot on his skin.

He makes an incoherent mumble as voice still trembles, and Nick holds him, pressing kisses to his temple.

“Are you alright?” Nick checks in gently, tracing his flank.

He makes a sound of confirmation, and gently flinches when Nick reaches down to his cock again, running his thumb over the over sensitive head.

“Can you, again?” it must be selfish to ask, but it is what feeds the afterglow, “can you show me?”

Gatsby nods against his shoulder, his hand taking Nick’s place, “I- I’d like my mouth around you as I…”

Afterall, Gatsby ends up with his knees on the floor, and his mouth working on the lines of Nick’s cock. He listens to the unshameful groans above him, and melts into the hands in his hair, pulling again, and again with his movements. Nick pushes him once till he gags, then lets him draw up for air. Gatsby merely catches his breath, not bothering to brush away a tear from his eye. His hand works himself slowly, and he leans back into Nick, to drag his tongue over the underside, moaning as the hand pulls at his hair before come stripes over his lips and chin.

Nick’s breath still exhales heavy in the air with the aftermath, and entirely stops when Gatsby opens his eyes and looks for him through his goldenspun lashes.

“Gatsby,” Nick murmurs, and lets him rest his head against his knee.

“I can’t,” Gatsby moans out, his hand barely stroking himself, trying to keep the delicate acuity of feeling at bay.

“Want me to?”

A simple question shouldn’t make Gatsby’s heart twist in such a lovely affection. He shakes his head, and keeps going for him, the sensitivity tearing his edges in the finest ways possible. Overwhelming him like a riptide, using and grasping him, calling for the crashing tides.

There’s a sharp inhale before he cries out, trembling against Nick all while he’s watched down upon, with a hand stroking his hair.

“You’re such a good boy,” sings to him, as the last weak pulses of come drip to the floor, and Gatsby lazily holds himself up against the frame of his lover.

 

They clean up their mess to the sound of the persistent rainfall. Nick brings the covers over them, drawing Gatsby closer, and lays his arm over his side. Gatsby concentrates on the slow oscillate of Nick’s thumb against his back, and closes his eyes in pleased exhaust. Something still lays in him, a certain guilt that would surely use its deception the next morning. 

“Jay?” Nick whispers, brushing a strand of his shower damp hair away from his forehead, “we’ll talk over tea.”

His brows furrow, but the creases slowly ease away. He knows there’s a sense of security, at least in the moment. So he holds onto this care.

“That would be nice,” Gatsby agrees in a whisper.

“I love you.”

“Love you.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Softer, “... Goodnight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated <3


End file.
